"Marian." The name could not have been more beautiful if it had been sung by a nightingale. It was all at once unexpected and perfection, and Robin found it within herself to smile back, emboldened by the idea that the subject of all her veneration had a name she could invoke in her own personal heart's prayer. Thinking as quickly as she could, she picked a violet from the ground next to the rock where she sat. "For you, Maid Marian. As your knight."

She tucked it into her braid. "My knight." And the sun dappled through the trees as she smiled, painting them both with spots of sunlight in the dark.